


Sheets and Skin, Slumber and Sin

by Heart_Seoul_Soshi



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heart_Seoul_Soshi/pseuds/Heart_Seoul_Soshi
Summary: "You've only one bed, Evie dear," the Evil Queen smoothly said, features a composed mask of glass yet eyes sharp like steel as she cast them out across the throng of people, capturing the young dragon girl in her sights right away."I don't mind sharing!"Evie didn't mind sharing. Some poor excuse for a villain kid she was already shaping up to be.--Inspired by Hayley Kiyoko's "Sleepover"





	Sheets and Skin, Slumber and Sin

**Author's Note:**

> from an anonymous request on tumblr

Evie always liked the little thrill of it, loved the way her mother hated it.   
  
Right from that very first raise of the eyebrow and disgusted sneer twisting the Evil Queen's lips when little Evie tugged on her cape and asked if the purple-haired girl at her birthday party could spend the night. Maleficent's daughter.  _Mal._ The baby snake in the grass whose horned mother had spread her scaly wings out over the Isle of the Lost and lorded over the prisoners with a stolen crown. The Evil Queen tried to deter her child right away, of course, with the birthday festivities still not quite died down around them.  
  
 _"You've only one bed, Evie dear,"_ she'd smoothly said, features a composed mask of glass yet eyes sharp like steel as she cast them out across the throng of people, capturing the young dragon girl in her sights right away.  
  
 _"I don't mind sharing!"_  
  
Evie didn't mind sharing. Some poor excuse for a villain kid she was already shaping up to be.

The queen could've said no—insistently so—but it  _was_  Evie's birthday, after all. How would it look if The Isle's treasured little princess didn't get everything her heart desired on her special day? The Evil Queen imagined telling her own child no might very well have the others coming for her head. So she'd grimly,  _grimly_ relented, but never once refrained from making it clear how wholeheartedly she disapproved of the apple of her vain, beady eye mingling with snakes.  
  
But even from that young age, Evie delighted in the scowl crinkling her mother's nose when the castle doors were opened and Mal walked in, delighted in the fire that flashed in her eyes as Mal and her ratty duffel bag trekked up the stone staircase. She loved how her mother hated. There was a fiendish side to Evie after all.  
  
That very first night, the night of her birthday after her party guests had trudged home and the mess had been left out in the streets, Evie was a bit surprised to find the one guest who hadn't trudged her way home seemed quite relieved to have not done so. A brief stop was made at the dragon's castle, yes, for clothes and paper and colored pencils, but how Mal's eyes looked wide with a thrill of their own—the thrill of not having to go home that night.  
  
It didn't take them long to figure it out, all it took was that very first birthday night for Mal and Evie to realize that this was an escape for them both. As they flopped out on their tummies across Evie's carpet to color together, as Evie showed off her proud collection of wrinkled and waterlogged books that had washed up from Auradon and told Mal of all her favorite stories within, they both found an escape. Evie from the cavernous isolation her mother kept her locked in—” _mustn't mingle with the commoners”, “mustn't go out to run and play”_  (a princess does not run and play). Mal from the burning sting of dragon fire, of claws closing around her tiny arm should she fall short of success in a scheme, a con, in a way to be wicked. Mal didn't have to adhere to the phrase "sleep with one eye open" when she tucked herself beneath Evie's surprisingly soft sheets.  
  
And it was warm. So very, very warm.  
  
Evie never knew if it was just the feel of another body next to hers, or whether it was the feel of a body with dragon's blood in its veins. And she never found out, for night after night and sleepover after sleepover it was Mal and Mal alone she shared her slumber with. Everytime nights turned colder with that first pang of chill in the air, each year when disgusting muggy summers melted themselves into biting autumns and dangerous winters, Mal held a permanent standing invitation to Evie's home and bedroom.  
  
They grew up together under those sheets, side by side on leftover down pillows whose feathers poked and scraped like the tiniest of swords. But laying trapped and aching at the merciless point of a sword was a small price to pay for nights of coloring and children's books that turned into nights of schoolwork and talks, sewing and sketching. Nights of freedom from fire-eyed dragons and sharp-tongued queens with their keys to the highest tower ready to lock the doors tight and banish daughters within. One of Evie's favorite childhood stories, one she'd recanted to Mal time and time again in their youth, was of a brave and dashing royal who saved a poor princess from a dragon.   
  
She never thought to imagine a dragon might instead save a princess from the royal.  
  
Evie never really gave much thought to the ways she and her best friend grew up under her sheets. Her hair got longer. Mal's scowls got fiercer. Their art became better, their cuddles at night tighter. Mal's walls built themselves higher, shutting out anyone who wasn't Evie. Evie built herself a secret way inside by snuggling against her and lulling Mal to sleep with her steady breaths. They got older. It happened. Nothing unusual about it, nothing strange.  
  
Until one hot and humid night had Evie restless, sitting up in bed with her head resting in a hand, suddenly noticing the shape of Mal's body underneath the thin summer sheets. The backwards "S" of her curves as she lay curled on her side, fabric clinging to her thighs, her hips. Evie's eyes had long since adjusted to the dark—she saw everything in crystalline detail. And her heart started to race, chest caving in on itself.  
  
Evie wanted to touch her.  
  
Fingers itched and her palm burned, aching and screaming to reach across and feel Mal's softness through the sheets, to warm herself with dragon skin on an already miserable arid evening. Dragon skin, not scales. Mal never had scales, at least not with Evie. Mal was smooth, soft, skin of snow that would utterly rattle the bones of Evie's old family nemesis. Evie could use the snow on her feverish skin; feel it under her fingertips, against her chest, between her legs.  
  
Feel Mal between her legs. The shape of her fitted perfectly with Evie's own. She could see it in her head, a flickering projector playing them together on the far wall while her heart beat out a musical score.  
  
Fevered air gave way to fevered skin and fevered dreams when Evie against all odds managed to fall back to her pillow and still her racing heart enough to sleep. Dreams of her and Mal tangled under the sheets in ways they'd never been tangled before, wrapped in each other's arms for reasons other than comforting hugs as they used one another to block out the oppressive aura of The Isle long enough to fall asleep.  
  
Evie didn't want to think about it come morning, when the dull daytime haze burned away the fog of the night before and the fog in her own head, the dangerous thoughts twisting at her, clawing. She didn't want to think about it, and certainly not dare to talk about it. She simply let the fog burn, burn into oblivion like her skin with Mal laying so close. Gone. Forgotten. The dark sinking in the pit of her stomach, however, she couldn't let go of.  
  
Evie had long ago stopped asking her mother's permission for Mal to spend the night, choosing instead to get her familiar wicked kicks by watching mommy dearest quietly rage when Mal strolled her way unannounced through the castle and up the stairs to Evie's room as if she owned it. Likewise, Mal had long ago stopped asking Evie's permission to spend the night, the years-old silent agreement between them still holding that Mal was welcome at Evie's side whenever she wanted or needed. Evie started hating herself when she started wishing Mal would break tradition and ask just once, just so Evie could think up a reason to say no.  
  
A reason to sleep at night without galloping heartbeats and a screaming mind for every second that passed without her giving in to the need to hold and touch the slumbering girl beside her. Evie's imagination was another thing that grew up with her, entertaining her as a little girl with the far off places dreamed up within the pages of her books, and tormenting her nowadays with visions of Mal pressed close. Kissing her. Scorching kisses to the pulse of her neck before Mal put a hand to Evie's chest and guided her back down onto their bed. Here, the sheets didn't rise and fall with their breathing, but with their breaths, lusty and labored as Evie and her shaky fingers struggled for the first time in her life with a pair of clothes.  
  
Mal's touch was gentle—she didn't inherit her mother's claws—and with the scent of freshly painted black polish clinging to her fingers she cupped Evie's cheek, turned her head to steal and seal her lips in a kiss.  
  
And then Evie would wake up, or open her eyes, or zone back into reality from her desk at Dragon Hall. Mal would see her from across the room, or down the corridor, with the black cloud practically hanging over her head. Mal would ask why Evie's body sat so tense and withdrawn on the covers of her bed those evenings. Evie didn't want to talk about it.  
  
She was a fool.  
  
Best friends were a nonexistent commodity on The Isle, and Evie was the luckiest girl in all the lands for having one of her own. Someone to run to, sit close to, talk to, cry to, someone to stand by her side in the gloom of the island prison and anchor her to the rock, saving her from drifting away and drowning in choppy gray seas. And Evie, with her heart too big for her own good, loved being a best friend just as much as she loved having one. She shouldn't want more than that. She shouldn't dare think she deserved anything more. Pressed flat on her back with a pillow under her head and Mal's knees wrapped around her waist, the most amazing view of snowy dragon skin rocking and writhing on top of her.  
  
No, despite her mother's influence of vanity, Evie didn't dare think herself deserving of any of that.  
  
But damned if she couldn't hear moans rumbling from her chest and threading themselves with Mal's like it was all really right there in her ears, really happening.  
  
Sometimes eyes would snap awake in the middle of the night and find Mal close, hugging her from behind with an arm draped across Evie's waist and a hand draped dangerously close to where Evie needed it the most. She'd shutter her eyes again tight like blinds on a window and imagine, imagine fingers slipping down, slipping inside. Mal silently working behind her as Evie smothered moans and her best friend's name into a pillow.  
  
Come morning, come the burning of Evie's nighttime haze, Mal would rise and  _certainly_ shine without a clue, without any idea that Evie was dying inside next to her. Brushing Mal's hair in the morning, helping her make the tough choice between one ripped pair of pants and the other, those were the things a best friend did—the things Evie did as each morning she slammed the mental reset button and told herself that this would stop, that this was the last day of the aching chest and the trembling legs as Mal drove her crazy with her full, pouting lips and slender body just begging to be made at home underneath Evie.  
  
And such promises were an easy thing to keep in the safe light of day, but her demons always crawled forth from the shadows when a black sky fell and Mal bundled herself under Evie's covers with a murmured "Night, E". It killed Evie, demons plunging fangs deep into her chest and tearing, shredding, devouring her heart; it killed her because she knew they could be perfect. She knew hot nights unable to tell whose limbs were whose would fade into cool mornings with her head on Mal's chest, hearing a soft heartbeat and having her lips travel a path through a valley of breasts. In Evie's head she could hear birds chirping and cheering outside the windows on such a morning, even though no such frilly fairytale thing existed on The Isle. But it could exist with Mal; everything could be perfect with Mal.  
  
Mal meaning it when she held Evie's hand, instead of doing it to just tug her along or claim her attention. Mal sending sparks through Evie with their fingers twined tight and knowing damn well what she was doing. Evie would play, fake scold her for getting under her skin the way she did, and then hold that flawless face in her hands and kiss the inevitable grumpy pout away. Evie could do it, be a princess by day and a queen by night, but her studded high heels were not the only reason she and Mal didn't see eye to eye.  
  
Suddenly thinking about it, Evie supposed she was always naturally inclined to want more. A princess in a prison was bound to want more. But Mal, both scraping and scraped from the bottom, did not have a dreamer's eye tucked beneath those pools of sun-kissed jade. Mal took what she could get and satisfied herself with it, only pushing for more under the will of a bigger and badder dragon, never for herself. She had a best friend, a girl tucked loyally to her side ever since childhood with no intention of going anywhere anytime soon, that was all she could ever ask for. Evie wanted to beg Mal to beg, to have Mal part her lips and press them to bright red and slip Evie's own name into her mouth while her body asked all the questions, while hands wandered and hips ground and it all spelled out "Can we be more?"  
  
 _Ask me, Mal._  
  
The scream in Evie's head was deafening one night as she rolled onto her side and watched a masterpiece sleep.  
  
 _Ask me to be more._  
  
But Mal, of course, did not budge, did not respond. Deafening screams were always a dragon's lullaby.  
  
 _Hold me,_ Evie cried out in ways that no one could hear, fingers losing themselves in the forest of Mal's hair.  _See me. Just look at me, Mal._  
  
Scalding inside and out with the desire to know what Mal's love felt like. Such heat, pure and unadulterated—Evie often imagined herself to be the dragon. So close to but so far from Mal did Evie feel, like there was a bright light at the end of a tunnel but heavy legs were worn down, unable to carry on. Leaving her with no choice but to collapse in the dark, closing teary eyes shut to sleep with Mal in far different ways than she really wanted to.  
  
Mal lingered even on the rare nights she wasn't there, familiar smells of shampoo and spray paint and something sweet left behind on Evie's bed. Evie didn't think it was possible for nights without her to be harder than nights with her, with Mal oblivious and tantalizing, a forbidden gem just inches away. But on nights without her the scents from her side of the bed would sneak into Evie's dreams, painting pictures of Mal on top of her with needful whines buried in the crook of Evie's neck. Evie never had such an abhorrence for clothes as she did in her secret meetings with Mal, slipping the shirt off her pixie body in between grunting kisses. The clasp of Mal's bra was merely a speedbump as Evie's nails scratched down her back, reminding her to take this slow and savor it while it lasted. And Evie did, never knowing when it would shatter away right in front of her.  
  
They never talked in these meetings, much like how they talked less and less in real life with Evie never trusting herself to not let something slip and wisely deciding instead to just keep her mouth shut. It was different in the dreams, where Mal kept Evie's mouth shut for her. Just each other's names and pleading whispers of "more" were the only pieces of conversation between them. Sometimes Evie wished they would talk.  
  
But she knew that they had nothing to say.  
  
Yet still, it was incredible, the way Mal could take her far away without words, without even being  _real._ They weren't trapped on The Isle, finding solace and escape on Evie's pillows. Perhaps they were on a beach, a private beach all their own with glittering waves and a bright sun, Evie's hips canting up into Mal's as eager fingers clumsily worked to undo a purple belt. Sand in her hair and Mal in her arms was not a bad way to spend a fantasy.  
  
Evie would wake up not with her nails gliding ticklishly up and down Mal's side, and not with Mal nearby at all. And then she was back to wondering in gray early morning hours whether being with or without her was the better choice.  
  
Mal took the bed an afternoon after school, ratty textbooks taking up the sheets and Evie on the floor laying out fabrics, studying patterns and colors the way she studied Mal's lips.  
  
"You've been so much quieter lately," Mal decided that was the time to start the conversation. "E...I know I'm not very good at the emotions thing, but you know if you need to talk, or be talked to, I'm always here."  
  
 _Don't,_ Evie squeezed her eyes shut and begged.  _Don't make me love you even more._  
  
They could be so perfect together. Mal could kiss away the tears and the sighs and Evie could kiss away the scars and the claw marks, angry and red on the alabaster of Mal's skin. She wanted Mal next to her, not asleep, but panting, red-faced and coming down from a high with heavy lidded eyes and a smile tugging the corners of her lips before Evie rolled over and kissed her there. Evie wanted her mother to turn in her eventual grave, thinking about what her daughter might be doing up in her room with that sneaking serpent.  
  
Evie's restless nights were spent laying awake with her best friend soundlessly asleep close beside her, wondering if Mal tasted as good as she smelt. Her ears would strain, wishing to hear Mal whine and cry for her to slip down and dip her tongue inside. Just a taste. Evie could sate herself on that. Maybe not for long, but it was a start. If only Mal would just invite her in. Evie could drive her insane the way Mal did her, she could make her groan and writhe, watch the bedsheets wrinkle in the frantic grip of Mal's hands. She'd work her talented tongue harder and faster as Mal's back arched and Evie's name grew from a whisper to a scream, licking the taste of Mal off her lips when it was over. Then Evie would kiss her, silencing her ragged breaths and giving her that same taste.  
  
Mal always let her come close, there was no doubt or question. When they clicked off the lights and buried themselves underneath the covers, Evie would scoot over, maybe burrowing her head against Mal's back or maybe just finding her hand in the dark and lacing her fingers through. They had this, at least. A lifetime of friendship and sanctuary sleeping at each other's side, spending their evenings together with memories and the most fun they could make on the Isle of the Lost.  
  
It came naturally when they were little, the way small children would make fast friends over coloring, drawing, sharing in the stories that came from Evie's books. Adolescence saw them puzzling over their homework together, singing and dancing to songs they'd crafted themselves, and Evie's own private fashion shows with herself as the model and Mal's encouraging claps. And then as they grew even older, still there were nights of homework, nights of Evie trying to coax Mal into a makeover, eager to paint the canvas of her perfect features with lipstick and eyeliner.  
  
At least they had that. A lifetime of friendship that wasn't about to vanish anytime soon; Evie could feel it, she and Mal would be together forever. They'd already cemented that bond way back when, the day a small princess tugged on her mother's cape and asked if the dragon girl with amethyst in her hair and jade glowing in her eyes could spend the night. Evie was a very lucky girl to claim such a best friend in a lonely land of isolation. Mal would always be there, even if it wasn't in the ways that Evie's heart and body so desperately wanted and needed.  
  
At least she had Mal in her head.  
  
Their secret meetings on warm Auradon beaches or plush royal beds in glittering castles that didn't creak and groan hauntingly like the bed in Evie's room, plush royal beds that stayed silent as they were rhythmically rocked with the thrusts of hips, fingers, tongues. A vivid imagination would serve Evie well as she dreamt of Mal exploring her and being explored herself—after all, dreams were all anyone on The Isle ever had. Evie was very lucky, she had to keep telling herself that. She didn't know what she'd do with herself if she failed to make her heart believe that.   
  
She had more than most trapped in that prison, she always did, ever since she was a little girl. Dreams. Memories. A best friend. Mal at her side, the smell of her shampoo on Evie's pillows, her warmth burning through freezing winter nights and the shape of Mal forever carved into her mattress. These were the things Evie had, the things she would cling to when fantasy shattered away and reality viciously reminded her that Mal's heart wasn't beating heavily against hers through the bare skin of their chests.  
  
Dreams and memories. A best friend.  
  
Sleepovers in her bed.


End file.
